


what if we were meant to be?

by preciousghouls



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Confession, Drunk Confession, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Post canon, University AU, and with pining comes, everything begins with toorus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 19:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8933521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preciousghouls/pseuds/preciousghouls
Summary: what ifs. a game started by oikawa, with players oikawa and an unwitting iwaizumi. on this occasion, oikawa dropped a what if he wasn’t ready to take responsibility for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for lenny as an early christmas gift!! hope you have a good remaining year lenny <333
> 
> (please take it as within these short years, technology had advanced and makki can do what he did.)
> 
> unbeta-ed fic #XXX im sorry but i think this should be okay because squints i reread it over 5 times while writing

Oikawa Tooru was drunk.

 

He was drunk, that’s why the room felt like it was forty degrees. 

He was drunk, that’s why he babbled on and on about how he kept getting dumped by his girlfriends and was tired of it.

He was drunk, that’s why he was seeing doubles. 

He was drunk, that’s why his head throbbed. 

He was drunk, that’s why the taxi driver asked whether he was all right when he stumbled out of the vehicle. 

He was drunk, that’s why he felt the need to throw up – and did.

He was drunk, that’s why his childhood best friend came to his mind at two in the morning, why he reached for his phone and unlocked it with his fingerprint to go into his contacts, sliding until he found the name he was looking for.

**Iwa-chan (*・∀-)☆**

The glowing “dial” button was like the poisoned apple Snow White couldn’t avoid, and Tooru’s thumb pressed down on it.

With the speakers turned on, the dark apartment and how drunk he was, the ringing sounded louder than usual. One ring. Two rings. It went on, and on, and on, until he was sure after the next ring the voice operator would come on, then the line connected with a click.

“–What?”

 _Iwa-chan’s grumpy voice._ Somewhere in the muddy back of his mind, Tooru was aware of what he was doing: Calling Hajime in the dead of the night, when he _knew_ Hajime was sleeping, despite the unspoken deal to not do it unless it was important. Was it important? That much, Tooru didn’t think, just spoke.

“Iwa-chan, what if I told you I’m in love with you?” And after a short pause, “Would you date me?”

The silence was deafening as he waited, but the answer never came. Tooru pried the phone away from his ears to see that the call had ended at 0:06 seconds. Hajime had hung up on him. Tooru laughed without knowing why he did, and he fell onto the couch, not understanding the hard, painful thuds against his chest.

 

He was dead drunk; that’s why he said that. 

He was dead drunk; that’s why Hajime didn’t take him seriously.

Exactly how it was meant to be.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Fuck,” was the first word that left Tooru’s lips as he woke up the next day, on the floor. He had the _worst_ hangover, and spent the next twenty minutes laying on the cold concrete regretting his life decisions. For some reason his phone was clutched in his hand and he checked the time – 11:17am. Thank God he didn’t have Saturday classes. At least it was still early enough for breakfast.

Then he saw the number of missed calls and unread texts.

**7 missed calls: **Iwa-chan (*・∀-)☆****

****9 unread messages: ** **Iwa-chan (*・∀-)☆****** **

_Double fuck._

With a groan he pulled himself up with the support of the couch and staggered his way to the kitchen for a glass of water and a pill for his major headache. Another glass of water. Then a quick shower to clear his head. A miracle what water could do for people.

His doorbell sounded. Tooru ignored it. It was never anyone important, not on weekends. Probably a salesperson trying to advertise their company’s new products.

But it rang again.

After three seconds, again.

Tooru twisted the handle with a click of his tongue and the sound of the shower stopped. He dried himself with the first towel in sight and threw on a faded shirt and shorts hanging in the open cupboard and stomped his way to the door. Just _who_ the heck was being so persistent –

“Oh?!”

A man, so flustered it looked as though he marathoned here, and probably did. _Iwa-chan._

“W-What are _you_ doing here, Iwa-chan?”

Three years ago, Tooru wouldn’t have been surprised, with their houses next to each other. Now, they lived a 30 minute train ride apart. It wasn’t even their bi-monthly Movie Saturdays yet, that was next week. Plus it was at supposed to be at Hajime’s place this time.

Hajime glared, and Tooru remembered the 7 missed calls and 9 unread messages. An involuntary squeak escaped him as Hajime pushed his way into his house, grumbling inaudible words. An abrupt stop, and he turned to give Tooru a harsh chop to the head.

“Iwa-chan?!”

“Didn’t pick up my damn calls, didn’t reply my damn messages. Do you even know how worried I was?”

Well, yes, Tooru did tend to reply within the hour regardless of the time, so that was _probably_ his fault, but still. He was about to protest when he took a closer look at Hajime, noticing the dark circles under his eyes, how tightly his jaw was clenched and his shoelaces untied (he’d laugh about it another time, surely), and his mouth closed. He really _was_ worried.

“I’m sorry, Iwa-chan. I was really drunk last night, and I knocked out straight after I came home…” Or at least, he thought he did. Tooru wasn’t a good drinker; he’s usually out by the third glass and would wake up the next morning remembering nothing. For all he might know, he might’ve said something to Hajime–

“…So you don’t remember what you said?”

Tooru swallowed at the quietness of Hajime’s voice and gave a slow shake of his head. What _did_ he say that was bad enough for Hajime to make the trip here on a weekend morning? He probably should’ve opened the texts to check first.

“Asshole.” Hajime dropped onto his couch with a loud sigh, raking a hand through his hair the way he did when he was frustrated beyond words. “Should’ve known you weren’t fucking sober.”

Tooru hopped into the space next to Hajime. “So _what_ did I say?”

Hajime gave him a sideglance, looked away, and sighed again, an even longer sigh than the first. _What the heck?_

“It’s nothing important. Not like you’ll remember about it even if I told you.”

“But I _want_ to know!”

“Shut up and give me your phone.” Instinct had Tooru handing his phone over without complaint. Hajime unlocked it with his thumb, because Hajime had access to Tooru’s _everything_ , including his house, but he’d probably forgotten he owned a spare key in his rush, and that made Tooru feel guilty enough that he decided to stop pursuing the issue. But as he watched Hajime pressing down on his screen with so much intensity he couldn’t help his curiosity.

“Iwa-chan, what are you doing with my phone?” As the last word left his lips his phone was tossed back to him. Skeptical Tooru unlocked his phone, fingers automatically opening his Album first to check. Nope, all 9,658 photos were still there, including Hajime’s sleeping face. So it wasn’t his photos. Next, he went to his Music, but that wasn’t it either. All of his favourite songs were still in his playlist.

Then he found it. _The messages._ The notifications were gone, and Tooru opened the app to find his unread messages deleted. His jaw dropped, and he turned back to Hajime, asking the question with his eyes. Hajime shrugged.

“That way, I can keep it off your mind for good.” 

As though that settled the issue, which Tooru had no doubt Hajime counted it as such, the latter stood and stretched himself.

“Now then, since I’m here anyway…” Hajime gave the apartment a once over. “Why don’t we do some cleaning up?”

Cleaning up. Tooru looked around him. There were just a few pieces of clothing here and there, one or two unwashed plates in the sink with half opened snacks left beside it, and the manga he had been reading stacked messily by their feet. It wasn’t _that_ bad by Tooru’s standard (there were, after all, days where you couldn’t even take a step in his apartment without tripping over stuff). Then again, that meant serious business with Hajime, and so he was handed the broom to sweep up the area as Hajime arranged his things for him.

The most horrifying part wasn’t the sweeping, it was sweeping and seeing how much hair Tooru had dropped. In the dust pan he saw a collection of dusty strands that were enough to form the size of a baseball, and he had to reach for his head to ensure he wasn’t actually bald yet. Hajime simply rolled his eyes as he bound the stack of manga neater than Tooru ever could, more than used to the ridiculousness of his childhood friend.

When they worked together, understanding the reason behind every movement with none wasted, responding to the other without words like they did on court, it didn’t take long to return Tooru’s apartment to its original state. In fact, it might’ve looked even better than when he first came to discuss pricing with the previous owner Then again, this was how it always was when Hajime dropped by.

To thank him, Tooru did the honors of preparing what was now time for lunch. A simple meal, but of Hajime’s favourites – the first thing Tooru had promised himself to learn after all the times in grade school when Hajime had dealt with his wilfulness, taking all that he didn’t eat while giving away what he did like. He’d picked up cooking for Hajime in the first place, so it wasn’t uncommon for his fridge to be filled with ingredients for Hajime’s favourites.

“Thank you for the food.” Even now as Hajime picked up his chopsticks it seemed as though his first instinct was to single out the juiciest part of the tofu and place it into Tooru’s bowl. Even though it was his favourite dish.

In that sense, Hajime was _really_ like his mom. But if Tooru said that, he’d definitely get another kick or punch or both, so he said nothing and picked up the tofu to take a large bite into it.

“Oh?! I can’t believe how good my cooking tas–” Spinach was shoved into his mouth to keep it busy chewing, and the rest of lunch was somehow finished in peace. Hajime helped out with the dishes before he decided that he had to go. A part-time job, he explained when Tooru asked. With promises to catch up soon, Hajime left.

The moment the front door clicked, Tooru was up and dashing to his room for his laptop. He pulled out the second drawer when he saw Hajime put his cable in earlier and connected his phone to it, fingers tapping impatiently on the keyboard as he waited for the Device Connected popup to appear.

What was it that Takahiro taught him all those years ago?

Hesitantly, Tooru clicked away, finger lifting off the touchpad occasionally to type in keywords. He stopped more often than not, trying to recall his IT lessons with Takahiro in high school, when he thought it was “cool”, before he eventually gave up, because he gave up at everything except volleyball at some point. Still, as he thought, with the way Hajime was acting, it was impossible to not try to find what exactly was the conversation about! He made a few errors and had to backtrack more than once, but when he saw the words he wanted appear on screen, it was all worth it.

 **9 messages from “ ** ** ** **Iwa-chan (*・∀-)☆******** ” retrieved. ** **Export to phone?**

**Yes / No**

Hallelujah Hanamaki Takahiro-sensei! “ _Yes!_ ”

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two in the morning, Tooru had called. Hajime had jumped out of bed when he recognised the ringtone he’d set for Tooru. It was an emergency; he made a grab for his phone with that thought. There was no other reason he’d call Hajime at this timing of the night.

He’d never been so dead wrong, and now, it wouldn’t stop replaying in his mind – Tooru’s words.

_“Iwa-chan, what if I told you I’m in love with you?”_

Iwaizumi Hajime had been so shocked by his childhood friend’s words he’d hung up the phone without thinking. It was a joke. Definitely just a joke. He kept telling himself that, as though it would be able to calm his accelerating heart. A voice at the back of the head nagged persistently:

But what if it _wasn’t_ a joke? What if Oikawa Tooru, the biggest flirt alive, but was also at the same time the most loyal, caring person you could have as a partner, wanted to date _him_?

Thinking that, Hajime had gathered courage to send a text to Tooru with trembling fingers. They trembled with every syllable, trembled as they pressed on send, trembled as they held the phone and waited for a reply that never came.

The first minute, Hajime had to lean by the open window to let his head cool. Couldn’t believe he sent something as embarrassing as that, to Tooru of all people.

After the fifth minute, the red tint on Hajime’s skin was no longer from embarrassment, but rage. What had he been thinking? Tooru had obviously been messing with him! He must be laughing at Hajime through the screen now, that asshole. He sped text Tooru an angry text and threw his phone aside. Not for the next ten years would he forgive Tooru for this joke. He could only be thankful his last message hadn’t been suggestive enough for a man like Tooru to pick up. Probably.

Ten minutes passed, and there was still no vibration from his phone. Out of the ordinary. But not entirely unseen. Frowning, Hajime sat by his phone, trying not to be too obvious when he peeks at his phone from the corner of his eyes even though there were none to see him as he did, only his pride.

By the time an hour passed, Hajime started to get worried, pacing about his small room as he did. He’d sent 7 messages, called 5 times, and not as much as a stir. He tried again, and the phone rang, and rang, and rang, and went to the voice operator. He almost tripped over himself in the darkness, then he remembered. Right. It _was_ three in the morning. Chances were, after that joke of a phone call, Tooru had fallen asleep.

Turns out, of course he did. And _of-fucking-course_ his words were just those of a drunkard, who couldn’t even remember what he fucking said. Hajime prayed he never would, or he’ll end Tooru’s life by his own damned hands.

“Gah!” In his moment of anger, Hajime stopped to slap a branch inches away from his face. Shittykawa. Asskawa. Loserkawa. _Shit_. 

To think he thought they had a chance. How fucking stupid was he?

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Tooru was forced to relax his expression; he’d been frowning so long his head hurt. He _had_ managed to retrieve the messages, but he couldn’t make any sense out of them. But because he was Tooru, he wouldn’t give up, and looked through them for the umpteenth time.

The first message. 2:17am. 

 

**Are you serious about what you said on the phone?**

**Because my answer is yes.**

That was most likely what Hajime was referring to when he first arrived earlier, ‘what he said’ being something Tooru had no idea _what he actually said_. Yes. Yes to what? Did he ask Hajime something? Gah! It was infuriating, not knowing. He went to the next message, from 2:25am.

 

**I knew it! You fucking ass! Fuck you. Die, asshole!**

Knew _what_? Also, was Hajime's vocabulary really limited to those few insults? Tooru felt his brows crease again even as he went on to the next message… Well, messages. The next five messages were sent within the span of two minutes, from 3:04am to 3:06am. It was unbelievable how Hajime, who prioritised sleep like how Tooru prioritised volleyball, stayed up an hour waiting for his reply, a reply he never gave.

 

**Answer my texts!**

**Shittykawa, I swear.**

**Pick up the damned phone.**

**Oikawa?**

**Oi.**

 

One wouldn’t be able to tell from the texts, but because they were from Hajime and because he was Tooru, he could tell with each progressing text that Hajime had been worried. Whatever he had told Hajime over the phone while he was drunk, it had affected the man that much. The look Hajime had on his face when Tooru admitted he was drunk… He clenched his fist and spun his chair away from the work desk, eyes burning from staring at the screen for an overly long period of time without rest.

_Curse me for not remembering. Damn you Iwa-chan for not telling me –!!_

Giving up wasn’t in Oikawa Tooru’s dictionary, not when he’d locked onto something. No way was he going to let this rest. If he didn’t get to the bottom of this, he wouldn’t be able to rest in peace, and would end up resting in pieces. Which was a no-go, and also the reason why he cornered Takahiro immediately after Monday classes.

“Woah, there. Easy. What’s the issue?”

“Rude that you automatically assume it’s an issue, Makki!”

Takahiro shrugged. “But it is, isnt’t it?”

Tooru felt the need to defend himself. “Is not!”

“Is too.”

“ _Is not!_ ”

“Then what is this about?”

“…I need your help.”

“See!”

“Are you going to help me or not!”

Takahiro sighed. “Not like you’d let me go even if I said no, would you?”

Good ol’ Takahiro understood Tooru well, and they were off to the school library even as he explained his situation.

“You want me to _what_?”

“What I said.”

Takahiro’s jaw tightened as he rubbed his head. “Jesus, Oikawa. You always give me impossible tasks!”

“But you can do it, right? Because you’re Makki.” Tooru grinned as he saw Takahiro sit a little straighter, eyes shine a little brighter. He knew what got the man going. Understood him as well as he understood Tooru. Takahiro crossed his hands and stretched in his seat, his usual casualness discarded.

“Well, never said I wouldn’t try.”

Tooru did a tiny first pump. “ _Yes_ _!_ I’ll put in a good word for you the next time I see Mattsun.” It wasn’t a secret Takahiro was crushing on Issei. And Tooru’s job was as good as done the moment he gave Takahiro his phone. Latest by Friday, he would have the call he made to Hajime recovered. He wouldn’t know how that worked, but Takahiro’s the IT man, and Tooru trusted him.

With all that Tooru had imagined what it might have been about, it didn’t prepare him to hear what he really said.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

– _What ifs_. A “game” started by Tooru. “Players” included Oikawa Tooru and an unwitting Iwaizumi Hajime.

At first, it was just a method for him to ask favors indirectly.

 

What if Iwa-chan does it instead?

What if I’m too tired to walk?

What if Iwa-chan lets me hit him once –

_(Well, naturally that didn’t happen.)_

Then, as time passed, it became a way for Tooru to voice his inner concerns, his insecurities. What he really thought.

 

What if I don’t want to do it?

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not good enough?

 

So where did that leave what he’d said to Hajime that night? Tooru wasn’t sure yet, but he sure as hell would found out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

The Saturday began as per any Movie Saturdays with Tooru. Hajime picked out a movie and waited for him to arrive sometime past 2pm, even though the agreement was at 12pm, because this was _Tooru_ and he always needed more time than anyone else to pose infront of the mirror for selfies after spending more than hour picking out which coloured alien shirt he should wear, _then_ dig through his godforsaken closet for matching pants and socks.

By the time his doorbell finally rang, Hajime was dozing off on the couch. His clock read 4pm. _If this isn’t a record._ Shoving the unfortunate incident from a week ago to the back of his mind, Hajime reached for the doorknob. “You’re late, Shittykawa…”

He paused. Was it person really Tooru? That neon green alien hoodie and blue space socks confirmed it, but this Tooru looked drained. And he never looked drained. Never allowed himself to walk out with such dishevelled hair and heavy eyebags. He sure as well hoped he didn’t look like that when he banged on Tooru’s front door. Hajime ushered him into his apartment, but Tooru grabbed him by the wrist so they’re stuck like that, Hajime leaning against his door, Tooru’s feet stepping on the borders into his apartment.

“What’s wrong?”

“Iwa-chan, I – you –”

What the fuck was the matter now? “I what?”

“You – You _like_ me?”

Just like that, Hajime’s world came crashing down on him. It was crashing down, and he was in the middle of the chaos, but strangely enough, nothing was happening. It didn’t felt like it. Instead of a fiercely thudding heart, he was met with an eerie calm, and it served as a sort of protective shield, repelling the bits and pieces of his world that fell around him. In the distance, Tooru continued.

“The call. I managed to retrieve it.”

He knew.

“I -- I asked you. That.”

 _He knew_.

“Your reply. It was yes. Do you like me, Iwa-chan?”

Tooru _knew_. At that realisation Hajime’s body caught up with his mind and he felt rather than saw his skin turn red and hot enough to fry eggs. He’d asked Tooru to drop it, but he didn’t, and now he knew. This was going to _ruin_ them, he just knew it. _Fuck me._

“I do,” he answered after shaky breaths, because he did, and because Iwaizumi Hajime never lied to Oikawa Tooru. He lifted his chin so they were on eye level, finding confidence whenever he did that. “I like you, Oikawa.”

It was like his answer flipped a switch he didn’t know existed, and Tooru went limp and dropped into Hajime’s arms. Grumbling about the taller man’s full weight, Hajime somehow managed to get him into the house and dropped him over his couch even as he mumbled, “I see. So Iwa-chan likes me.”

Hajime smacked him, face reddening again. “Stop repeating it, asshole.”

Tooru slowly grinned at that. “Iwa-chan really does like me.”

“I said shut up.” But he was grinning too.

Even though Hajime was so sure Tooru would be taken aback, probably even grossed out, then they’d have a huge fight over this and it’d end up with them never speaking to each other ever again without awkwardness hanging in the air... it didn’t happen. They were the usual, bantering childhood friends.  Over the movie Hajime had chosen, said man commenting on Tooru’s appearance, shoulder to shoulder as they bickered over the movie.

Dinner wasn’t easy either, not that any meal was with Tooru. They were forced to order take out because Tooru had forgotten to buy ingredients on his way, and it was always a debate between ramen and pizza.

Unsurprisingly, they went with pizza, because Hajime could never say no when Tooru begged. And was it just him or was Tooru looking even more darned attractive than usual? Maybe it was because his feelings were already thrown out there, and he didn’t feel the need to hold back any longer.

 

\--They returned to that discussion during bed time. (Of all times).

Hajime was in his bed, Tooru on a futon laid out next to it. As how it’d always been. The lights had been switched off for a full minute before Tooru spoke.

“Iwa-chan, you really like me?”

Another minute of silence. “...Yeah.”

Five long minutes. Would Hajime ever be able to sleep like this?

“Iwa-chan.”

He didn’t answer. 

“Iwa-chan, I know you’re awake, so.”

Not answering.

“Iwa-chan.”

_Stop calling me that._

“What if I said...”

Again with the what ifs.

“...To give me some time?”

Wait, what?

There was shuffling from the futon. Tooru was nervous. “I... I’m not sure if I like _like_ you, Iwa-chan. So I don’t want to give an answer so soon, not until I’m sure. I don’t want to hurt you, Iwa-chan.”

Tooru didn’t want to hurt him. Hajime smiled because Tooru couldn’t see. Despite how he appeared, Tooru always thought a lot for the sake of others. Always.

“So, can you wait for me until then? Until I’m sure?”

Hajime considered that. 

“I can’t guarantee I won’t fall for someone else before that.”

A kick to his bedside. “Mean!”

They laughed, and Hajime knew then that despite what happened to them from here on out, they would be fine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

– _What ifs_. A “game” started by Tooru. “Players” included Oikawa Tooru and an unwilling Iwaizumi Hajime.

 

At first, it was just a method for him to ask favors indirectly.

What if Iwa-chan does it instead?

What if I’m too tired to walk?

What if Iwa-chan lets me hit him once –

_(Well, he let Tooru do it once. Just once, and he was returned the favor 10 folds.)_

Then, as time passed, it became a way for Tooru to voice his inner concerns, his insecurities. What he really thought.

 

What if I don’t want to do it?

What if I can’t do it?

What if I’m not good enough?

 

Even more recently, it became a way for Tooru to keep track of Hajime’s feelings before he came to an answer.

 

What if I want to hold your hand?

What if I want to come over tonight?

What if I say I’ve come to an answer?

 

They were both nervous. Hajime more understandably than Tooru, but Tooru was the most nervous he’d been.

 

“So.” Hajime cleared his throat when his voice cracked, just subtly. “You’ve come to an answer.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Well, let’s hear it.”

 

Tooru was nervous, but he would be okay. He’d rehearsed this a million times. He’d get it right. He’d apologise for taking so long, confess, then asked for Hajime’s permission to date --

This was _Hajime_ , for God’s sake. So a smile formed on Tooru’s lips.

 

“Iwa-chan. What if I said... We were meant to be?”

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading!!!! hope you enjoyed it, even a little!! 
> 
> kudos and comments always welcome and appreciated <33


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